you are not taken advantage of.”
Trella put her hands on her hips. “I am perfectly able to take care of myself. Just because I am the youngest does not make me a fool. I am offended. You will apologize this instant.”
“I am sorry you are upset,” Steve said, “but I will still talk to him. He must not get any ideas about you.”
“What does that mean? I can spend time with whomever I want, whenever I want, and if I chose to spend some of it with him, there is nothing you can do about it.”
“We shall see.”
The seven riders were near the outbuildings. Dolores was at the forefront, distinct by her dress and her quirt. At her side rode Armando. The rest were vaqueros, Roman and Paco among them. They were so closely bunched that they had passed the stable before Steve realized his brother was leading an eighth animal, and that draped over it was a slender form wrapped in a blanket. The size and the shape left no doubt.
“Dear God,” Steve breathed.
Trella dashed to meet them, crying, “No! No! No! No! No!” As Armando brought the horse to a stop, she flung herself at the blanket and began sobbing.
“We found her,” Dolores said sorrowfully. “Or Roman did, and fired three shots into the air.”
Armando slid his sombrero off his head and onto his back, so that it hung by its chinstrap. “The rest are still out searching. I sent Paco to find Julio.”
Steve stopped a few feet from the body. He could not bring himself to touch it. Not yet. “How did she die?”
“In a fall would be my guess. I am no doctor, but I think her neck is broken,” Armando revealed. “We also found a dead horse. Its leg was broken, and its throat had been cut.”
“Was the horse one of ours?”
“Si. The sorrel we bought from the Circle T a year ago.”
Sniffling, Trella raised her grief-stricken face. “The Circle T again! What more proof do we need?”
It had to be a coincidence, Steve told himself. “You are being silly.”
“No more so than you! You are blind to what is happening, and your blindness will get the rest of us killed.” Trella burst into more tears, her face pressed to the still form.
Steve opened his mouth to dispute her, but closed it again at a gesture from Dolores. He helped Dolores down. Together with Armando, he carried the body into the parlor and gently laid it on the settee. Trella trailed after, weeping. No sooner did they step back than Trella threw herself on their mother again, bawling uncontrollably.
At a gesture from Dolores, the three of them quietly moved into the hall.
“She is hysterical,” Dolores whispered so their sister would not hear. “I do not blame her. I cried the whole way here. For the moment I am out of tears.”
“Who did it?” Steve was struggling to contain his own grief until later, when he could be alone. Men did not weep in front of others. It simply was not done.
Armando sagged against the wall, his shoulders sagging. “Would that I could tell you, mi hermano. We know there was another horse and rider. I instructed Carlos to backtrack them. He is one of our best trackers. If they lead to the Circle T, there will be no holding Julio back.”
“There will be no holding him back anyway,” Dolores said. “He is beside himself. I have never seen him so mad. Once he hears we have found her body, he will go berserk.”
“Maybe I should not have sent Paco to tell him,” Armando said.
“What’s done is done.” Steve’s own emotions were in a whirl, and it was all he could do to concentrate. My father and mother, both gone. The weight of the ranch bore down on his shoulders with crushing effect.
“The important thing now,” Dolores said, “is to keep our heads, and not do anything rash. We must find out who has done this terrible thing, and punish them, and we must do it quickly.”
“I agree,” Armando said.
Dolores stared at the settee. “First we bury mother and father. Next to each other, as they would have wanted.”
Steve nodded. “Out of respect, everyone on the rancho will attend. I will call in every last vaquero.”
“What about outsiders?” Armando asked. “Friends from San Pedro?” He paused. “And the Toveys?”
“Under the circumstances,” Dolores said, “inviting Kent and Nancy would be like waving a red cape in front of a bull’s nose. Julio would shoot them the moment he set eyes on them.”
“I reckon they will understand,” Steve remarked. “Once we have it all sorted out—” He broke off as boots thudded on the porch, and someone knocked loudly and urgently on the front door.
“What now?” Dolores wondered aloud.
Paco had his sombrero in hand, and was wringing the brim. “It is terrible, patron. Most terrible,” he said the moment Steve opened the door. “I found Julio and told him about Senora Pierce, as Armando told me to.”
“And?” Steve feared the answer.
“I regret to report, patron, that Julio and five vaqueros have gone to kill the Toveys.”
Chapter 19
Timmy Loring was keeping watch at the middle crossing when he heard riders in the distance. He sat with his back to a tree, a blade of grass between his teeth, daydreaming about a certain dove in San Pedro who had caught his fancy. Her name was Betsy. She had been at the saloon eight months now, and he still had not mustered the courage to speak to her.
Betsy was short, not much over five feet, but exquisitely shaped. Timmy particularly liked how her legs swished against her dress. He could sit and stare at those legs for hours, and usually did, from a corner table where no one would notice.
Jesco had noticed, though. Jesco noticed everything. He had not teased Timmy about it, as some of the other punchers would. He had merely asked if Timmy was in love with the girl.
That gave Timmy pause. He was not quite sure if he was in love or in lust. Lust he savvied. It was a powerful hankering to have a female under the sheets. Something Timmy had never done, although he’d had the hankering many a time. As for love, now there was a mystery. Maybe Timmy was in love and didn’t know it, having never known what it was to actually be in love. Love or lust, either way, Timmy could not stop daydreaming about sweet little Betsy and those wonderful legs of hers that swished so exquisitely.
At the rumble of hooves, Timmy sprang to his feet, his hand dropping to his revolver. It took a few seconds for him to realize the riders were not approaching the Rio Largo from the DP side, but were coming from the Circle T.
Timmy stepped from the trees to see who it was, and promptly stepped back under cover again. Jesco had warned him not to take chances. “Never take anything for granted,” were Jesco’s exact words. So Timmy figured he better stay hidden until he was sure it was safe.
Timmy would never admit it, but the business with the DP had him spooked. He had never killed anyone. Hell,
